Hell - Next Turn on the Right
by Celine Mariamo
Summary: Tension between the brothers reaches explosion point as the expiry date on Dean's deal with the crossroads demon draws near. With Hell looming, a supposedly simple salt'n'burn turns nasty. (Set in late Season 3). Hurt!Dean, Hurt!Sam Lots of Angst. Co-written by CelineNaville and Mariamo.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired_ _._

 _(Co-written by CelineNaville and Mariamo.)_

 **Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter One**

Dean kicked at the cellar door viciously, frustration rolling off him in waves.

"Goddamn it! It's solid. Friggin' ghosts!"

"The door is locked in case you haven't noticed." Sam responded, not bothering to hide his own mounting frustration. "But why don't you keep kicking it, so that if anybody is in the house they can come down and kill us now? I mean, not like they're going to hear the racket or anything."

"This is no time to be smart mouthed, Sammy!" Dean glowered at him.

Sam ignored his brother. He started down the perilously canted steps, careful to mind his head so he didn't bump it on the exposed beams. "Maybe a window?" He walked into a cobweb and brushed it off his shoulder, still casting around for an escape route.

The cellar was cold and damp enough that there was a thin film of moisture beading on the outside walls and a pervading stench of mold. For a change the electric light was actually working, although the pale glow seeping from the dust shrouded bulb did nothing to improve the ambience. If anything, it merely created dark, menacing pools of shadow behind and between the clutter of randomly stacked boxes and broken washing machines. Dusty, heavy cobwebs and mildew stained cream walls loomed over them, bringing unwanted thoughts of being buried alive slithering into Dean's mind.

Lately, with nightmares of his impending trip to hell making regular visits, he'd been feeling increasingly claustrophobic, almost as though he could already feel the coffin sides closing in around him.

He resumed his assault on the door, the thuds echoing off the damp walls. "I can't…" he slammed his boot into the wood, "...stand…" punctuating the word with another kick, "...being trapped!"

"I just have this feeling that we're going to find dead bodies down here." Sam muttered, feet now solidly on the dusty ground. He was making a circuit around the space, testing the tiny window, large enough for a cat to slip through, but certainly not himself or even his brother.

"Yeah. Well they're not gonna be our dead bodies!" Dean's assault on the door peeled through the air.

"DEAN! Knock it off!"

"Knock WHAT off?!"

"Kicking the door! I already told you that I'm not sure we got everyone. They might hear you and come finish the damn job. Remember we have a ghost _and_ possibly a few psycho humans on our tail."

Dean swung around, breathing a bit heavily. "Bring 'em on! Nothing I can't handle." He prowled restlessly about, tapping at walls and shaking angrily at a grille set in the ceiling.

"Oh my god. You're such an ass." Sam glared at him. "Use your brain for once and help me out, okay?" Sometimes his brother reminded him of a caged tiger, a ripple of barely controlled power shivering just beneath the surface of his skin. "Get out of fight mode. Time for think mode."

"You're the one with the brains, genius." Dean shot back. "You find the way out."

"You're like a.. _.pit bull_ when you get into that adrenaline fight or flight thing." Sam's hands were pressed against the cold damp wall, testing for a weakness.

Dean stopped in his tracks. "What?" He raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "I am so not a pit bull! I am way hotter than that!"

Taken aback by the sheer ludicrous content of his brother's statement, Sam actually turned around to look at him. "Is there some sort of Dog Paradigm of Hotness that I'm not aware of? Like poodles are sexier or something?"

"Para… what? Of course poodles are sexier! What's the matter with you!" Dean began to prowl again, temper visibly fraying.

"Sonofabitch! I've had it with this shit!" He launched himself suddenly off the steps, slamming into the nearest wall with his entire body weight. There was loud crack as the plaster and lathe shattered and he collapsed in a heap, head and shoulders out of sight inside the wall cavity.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked infuriatingly calmly.

"Uhh…" Dean sounded a bit winded, clearly not expecting the wall to actually give way. He pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking plaster out of his hair. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?" The younger Winchester wandered over and leaned down to peer in at his brother. "You okay?"

Dean pointed at a wrapped package lying inside the cavity.

"Oh god." Sam said.

"I don't think god has been down here in a while, Sammy."

"This is like the Cask of Amontillado. Great."

Dean looked at him, bewildered. "Wha… what does that even mean!"

"Well... I think we know where the ghost is coming from. This is probably him." Sam continued.

"You don't say! Great powers of deduction there man."

"I'm really tired of my life being like I'm trapped inside of an Edgar Allan Poe novel." Sam closed his eyes briefly, and started to fish in the pocket of his tan canvas jacket.

His brother was on his feet now, brushing off plaster and cobwebs. "Who the hell was he? A hunter? You got the lighter fluid?"

"Christ, Dean. You scare me sometimes." Sam replied, with the slightest air of condescension. He pulled out a metal zippo lighter and tossed it to Dean. "Try not to burn us down with it okay?"

Dean stared back at him, face sour. "I'm not gonna burn us down, dude." He hunkered down, squirting lighter fluid over the cloth-wrapped corpse, then paused a moment, lighter in hand. "I _have_ heard of him y'know. Miserable sonofabitch, wrote poems."

"The Raven was brilliant."

"That's the trouble with you." Dean squinted up at him. "You always like to look into the dark side of things. Y'think too much, should try havin' a bit of fun sometimes."

"Yeah." Sam looked around them. "Great fun we're having here. Actually for all we know Poe was a hunter. He kind of fits the bill...Alcoholic hermit. Sound familiar?"

"Well he sure spent too much time scribbling in journals…" Dean's voice went up a notch as his brother's words sunk in. "Hey, hang on there, was that a dig at me!"

"No!" Sam's reply was indignant. "Oh my god. Do you have to try to take everything as an insult to you?"

"I'm no hermit, I socialize!"

"I was talking about Bobby and Dad..." Sam retorted. "But go ahead and make it about you, because you make everything else about you."

Dean sat back on his heels, astounded. "Where in hell did that come from!"

His brother looked innocently at him. "What?"

"THAT! Nothin' is about me Sammy! I'm just tryin' to do my job here!"

Sam huffed. "Nothing is about you? Really? Okay. Whatever you say, man."

The lighter didn't seem to be working. "Sonofabitch!" Dean's thumb flicked at it angrily. "Somethin' you want to say here, Sammy? Let's hear it! Tell y'what, let's just forget about the friggin' ghost, the weird-ass psychos, let's do a bit of Sam Winchester counselling!"

Sam crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Stop being melodramatic and light it up."

The lighter flicked again. "Melodramatic! I'm not the one havin' a meltdown in the middle of a case!" Dean's thumb blurred as he flicked continuously, the lighter sparking but still failing to light. "Dammit!"

Sam raised an eyebrow, watching the display of temperament, arms still crossed. "How am I having a meltdown?" He asked evenly.

"This! All this psycho bullshit you keep layin' on me."

Sam's jaw tensed and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, the artificial display of calm beginning to crack under Dean's verbal assault. "What psycho bullshit?"

 _Flick. Flick._ "THIS!" Dean shot to his feet, hurling the lighter at the wall in frustration. His face screwed up in mock bitch-face as he spoke in a falsetto whine, "Calm down, Dean." He pursed his lips. " _Another_ beer, Dean. Gahhh!"

Sam took a step back as if his brother were crazy. "Oookay."

"OKAY! Nothin' is okay!" Dean swung around. "Where's the fuckin' lighter gone?"

"Where you threw it!"

The lighter was nowhere to be seen. Angry at himself as much as Sam, Dean began to scrabble around in the dim light, muttering plaintively. "What is wrong with you?" He wasn't quite sure if the question was aimed at Sam or himself.

oooo

There was a pause. "Why do you think everything I say is an attempt to hurt you?" The bite had gone out of Sam's voice; the flickering bulb lighting up his boyish features as he stared sadly at his brother.

Dean's fingers had finally closed on the lighter; he straightened up. "You're not big enough to hurt me," he said flatly.

"Whatever that's supposed to mean."

"Nothin' hurts me..." Dean's voice trailed off, his expression softening as his big brother radar picked up a hint of distress in Sam's voice. He tried uncertainly for a joke. "Hey, I'm invincible, like Bat Man, remember?" It fell flat.

"Oh yeah...Yeah." Sam shook his head and put his face in his hands for a moment. He drew in a deep breath.

Dean sighed, resigned. "What's goin' on? What's this all about, huh?"

Sam regained his composure, although he still looked frustrated. He looked up. "Why are we wasting time on these stupid cases?"

"What?" Completely taken aback, Dean stared at him in surprise. "This is what we do, what else would we be doin'?"

That tipped the flimsy facade over. "Finding a way out of your deal, Dean!" Sam exploded. "Every minute we waste on bullshit cases like these is another minute that you're closer to going to hell!"

Hell… Dean flinched nervously, not something he wanted to think about down here, or think about at all. He scrubbed the palms of his hands down his jeans nervously, swallowing. "There's no way out of the deal. We've done this conversation already. I don't want to talk about it."

Sam set his jaw and stance into that stubborn mule posture he got when he used to face off against their father. "Well that's too damn bad because we're finding a way out of it!"

A note of panic crept into Dean's voice. "You can't! You know why you can't!"

Sam paid him no mind. "But I need time to research. And I don't have time. We're wasting time with shit like this!" He swept his hand over the room, breathing heavily.

"This is not shit!" There was a bite of anger now in the words. "This is what we do! We save people!"

"I'm tired." Sam lamented. "I've been spending all night, every night looking for a way to get out of this."

"Don't you think I'm tired too?" Dean took a step back, feeling his hands starting to shake. "Why can't you just leave it alone?" The lighter slipped out of his fingers again. "Just leave it _alone_!"

"NO! I'm not letting you go to Hell for me! I'm NOT!" The outburst tore across the room in a baritone-like shout. Sam was trembling visibly now.

Concern for his brother and his own anxiety fought for position on Dean's face. Concern won; he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Sam's arm. "Hey, it's gonna be okay dude."

Sam shook it off almost viciously. "No! No it's not! Can't you understand?"

Dean pulled back, looking a little hurt. "You're gonna be okay. Doesn't matter about me. Maybe now you can have that normal life you want, without me hanging around, huh?"

Sam barked out something that was half astounded laugh and half sob. "Are you...freaking kidding me?" He heaved in a ragged breath of disbelief, still shaking.

"I just need you to be okay, Sammy! Can't you do that for me?" Desperation was leaking into Dean's tone. He fought it down, trying to force a mask of reassurance onto his face.

"I'm not gonna be okay, Dean!" Sam's voice deepened as he yelled again. His sheer stature and power probably would have intimidated anyone else but his brother.

"Yeah man, you will be, you'll get over me. You can go back to doin' what you're good at. Deal's done." Dean broke eye contact, scooping up the lighter.

Sam abruptly turned away, biting a fist to his mouth. His face twisted into rictus of pain, his white teeth bared, his shoulders hunched and taut from the load upon them.

"Aww buddy, dammit…" Dean's voice broke a little as he re-focused on his brother, wanting to reassure him but with no idea what to say to make things right.

oooo

Taking advantage of the distraction, the ghost decided to make its move. The wall behind Dean shimmered, a ragged figure forming out of the rough plaster surface. It hurtled silently towards his back.

Something in his older brother's voice had made Sam turn around to face him. He saw the ghost-like form and reacted instantly, his years of training leaping to the forefront of his emotional distress. "Dean! Look out." He shoved Dean out of the way bodily.

Dean landed heavily, breath knocked out of him in an explosive gasp as he took the full weight of his brother across his chest. A split second later that weight was gone as Sam was snatched up and away, the ghost flinging him across the cellar and into one of the solid outside walls. He hit the wall with a cry, taking the blow with his shoulder and side.

Dragging in a desperate breath, Dean leapt to his feet. Running towards Sam, he hurled a handful of salt from his pocket at the ghost, which sizzled briefly and vanished. It flickered back almost immediately, grabbing hold of Dean as he threw himself protectively over his brother's slumped figure.

Dean fumbled for more salt, cursing the fact they'd had to leave the shotguns in the car, initially thinking the house was occupied by Joe Average rather than vicious, homicidal maniacs. The ghost flicked him easily over onto his back and dragged him away by the throat. He struggled, feeling his windpipe bending inwards as the icy fingers closed around his neck. The lighter skidded away across the floor; a remote voice in a corner of his brain telling him it might be easier to use matches in future, if there was a future.

Sam opened his eyes. "Dean!" He tried to get up and lurch to the lighter, his movements uncoordinated, almost drunken. He couldn't keep his feet. He dropped into a crawl.

Dean felt the grip on his throat slacken momentarily as the ghost swung to look at Sam. He whooped in a desperate breath, managed a strangled shout. "No you fugly bastard, I'm over here! Sam, get outta here!"

"How?" Sam yelled. "There's no exit!" His fingers closed around the lighter even as he remained chest down, crawling on the floor.

Dean choked, black spots swimming at the edge of his vision as the ghost lifted him up by his neck. "Burn the sonofabitch Sammy!" He wasn't sure if the hoarse croak even reached his brother but the ghost hissed at him, furious, throwing him viciously at the wall above the wrapped corpse. This time the wall broke right through, and he went sprawling past the corpse and into a dark root cellar beyond.

The damp earth floor of the root cellar absorbed some of the impact as he landed; in the grand scheme of Winchester bad luck, it could probably even be counted as a lucky break. He sprawled, tucked himself into a roll at the last second and came up on his feet relatively unscathed. He immediately turned back towards the gaping hole in the wall.

Meanwhile, Sam flicked the lighter desperately and shook it. "Oh my god! _Why?_ Come on!" Eventually the tiniest spark caught and Sam pressed it to the accelerant on the corpse. It winked and caught suddenly in an impressive burst of flame. He jerked out of the way, the fire almost singing his eyebrows, but miraculously kept a hold on the lighter, although the hairs on the back of his hand were curled and burnt.

Dean recoiled, dodging back into the root cellar as the first flames leapt high from the desiccated shroud. "Sammy," he hollered through the wall of fire.

"There's no exit!" Sam yelled back, lighter in hand. He rolled away from the fire, wincing at his shoulder.

Completely disregarding his own safety, Dean leapt towards him through the flames. "Sonofabitch!" He swatted at the leg of his jeans, batting away some fiery sparks that had lodged in the material. "You okay there man?" He pulled Sam carefully upright.

Sam went a little limp for a moment, head lolling sideways. "I'm okay." He whispered.

Dean wasn't convinced. He kept a steadying hand on Sam's back, wanting to check for injuries properly. His brother was sitting awkwardly, but the air in the cellar was getting worse by the second. Already dank and stale, the billowing smoke from the burning corpse was making it unbreathable and it was becoming difficult to see.

"We gotta get out of here." He coughed, wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, noticing that flames were blowing towards them in ragged little curtains of fire, suggesting there may be a source of air, maybe even an exit, at the far end of the root cellar.

"I told you not to put so much accelerant on it that we burn down the cellar." Sam admonished when he'd caught his breath.

Dean faced him angrily. "What the hell were you playin' at there anyway? Trying to get yourself hurt? Huh?"

Sam stared at him, a little dazed.

"It's my job to take the hits dude!"

"It's not your job to do anything." Sam pushed out of his brother's embrace and stood up. He was about as steady on his feet as a newborn colt and almost went down.

"Slow down buddy." Dean took hold of his arm again. "Course it's my job. But you're not makin' it easy."

"No it's not. It's that thinking that got us here in the first place." Sam wiped his filthy carhartt jacket sleeve across his forehead, leaving a dirt smear. "'M okay. Little stunned."

"Can't help the way I think." Dean shuddered a little, visibly twitchy. "Let's just try and get outta here." He rubbed nervously at his upper arms with his hands. "I don't want to be stuck in this hole in the ground." If he'd felt bad before about being shut in, it was nothing compared to how he felt now, with flame and smoke added to the mix. He tried unsuccessfully to smile through stiff lips, the tense grimace making him look even more edgy.

oooo

Sam leaned against the wall and closed his eyes wearily.

"Just stay there, I'm gonna have a look in the root cellar." Dean glanced at him anxiously, then climbed rapidly around the waning flames. A few clattering noises drifted back through the wall, followed by the sound of smashing glass and then a distant "Come on!"

Sam followed his brother's lead pliantly, all the fight gone out of him.

"Sure you're okay man?" Dean was looking at him with concern as he broke pieces of smashed glass out of an old skylight. "I'm gonna go up first, stay where I can reach you dude. I'll give you a pull up."

"Okay." Sam said quietly.

Dean rubbed his throat, swallowing painfully as he resigned himself to another week or two with dark bruises around his neck. He pulled an old wooden box beneath the skylight, broke away another piece of glass and then hauled himself up through the dark square into the night. His boots waved wildly overhead for a moment before disappearing, replaced almost immediately by his cheerfully grinning face.

"Hey Sammy! Come on." He reached an arm down towards his brother.

Sam reached up with his good arm and tried to clamber out, a whimper escaping his lips as he moved the other shoulder.

Dean leant in a little further, pulling on the arm raised up to him, trying to be careful. "Easy there dude, I've got you."

"Owww!" Sam whispered, kicking with his feet in an attempt to help get some momentum. "Oh god!" He could barely move his opposite shoulder and it was hampering his progress.

There was a sharp thud outside, Dean's head turned quickly to check behind him; his expression was taut as he turned back. He launched suddenly further forwards, taking a firm grip of Sam, not seeming to care if it hurt or not.

"Sonofabitch! You're coming up now! Now!" He braced his heels against the lip of the skylight and pulled with all his strength on Sam's arm, turning a deaf ear to his shout of pain and the scream that tore from his throat as he was hauled unceremoniously out of the hole and dumped in a heap next to his brother.

Dean's voice was frantic. "M'sorry Sammy… Just get up buddy please! Run!"

"Huh?" Sam attempted to get up, but only made it to his knees. He looked behind Dean.

His brother moved deliberately in front of him, blocking the view as he hauled at him, trying to get him on his feet. "Get up," he growled fiercely. "Sam, get up!"

Sam struggled against his own weight again, still confounded but picking up on his brother's sense of urgency. "What's wrong?"

Dean leant down, still trying to hoist Sam to his feet. He suddenly stumbled forwards a step, almost as though he'd lost his balance. His eyes went huge as he looked at his brother, expression shocked, maybe even scared. He jerked in a little gasp of air, grunting on the exhale, "Sam…Just… get… up and RUN!"

Adrenaline shoved Sam to his feet and he started to take off, fisting his hand in Dean's leather jacket and trying to drag him along.

"Run!" It didn't sound like Dean's voice at all, but he was there, right behind, stride faltering slightly as he ran.

Sam pelted toward the Impala but still kept a grasp on his brother's sleeve. He spared a glance behind them, catching a glimpse of a huge, beefy man who was holding something that looked suspiciously like a crossbow.

"Shit!" Another release of adrenaline gave Sam a surge of speed he didn't know he'd had. He let go of his brother and flew toward the black profile of the car. "Dean, where's your gun?!"

"Under the driver's seat." Dean had fallen behind a little, sounding breathless as he dodged around, somehow making sure he was always between Sam and the crossbow.

Sam slid over Baby's hood with an audible scrape and wrenched open her door. He dove into the driver's seat, hands frantically searching for the handle of Dean's ivory gripped pistol. They settled on the familiar weight and he was up and aiming across the car's roof with deadly accuracy. "Dean, down!" He barked.

His brother flopped sideways into the side of the Impala, taking the impact with his hands. "Get the bastard," he coughed, breath ragged.

Sam lined up and took the shot. His aim was true and the bullet peeled through the man's skull, putting him down nearly instantaneously.

Dean moved unsteadily to his side, bracing his hand against the Impala for balance. "You're hurt, get in." There was a little shake in his voice as he carefully arranged his face into a blank mask, the darkness hiding the white pressure of his fingertips against the Impala's side.

oooo

 _So Sam's hurt and there's something up with Dean… Hell is waiting, in more ways than one._

Continued in chapter 2.

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please review if you have the time. :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired_ _._

Thank you for reading and reviewing! (CelineNaville and Mariamo)

.

 _Dean moved unsteadily to his side, bracing his hand against the Impala for balance. "You're hurt, get in." There was a little shake in his voice as he carefully arranged his face into a blank mask, the darkness hiding the white pressure of his fingertips against the Impala's side._

 _._

 **Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Two**

"I'll drive." Sam panted, slipping on the safety, and tucking the pistol into the waistband of his low slung jeans with his good arm. "Dean are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. You're the one that's hurt. Just get in." Dean's eyes were narrowed as he looked at him with concern. "What's up with that shoulder? You don't look too good dude."

Sam decided to let his brother have his way. "I dislocated it." He ducked his head and settled into the passenger side of the Impala.

Dean slid carefully behind the wheel; he seemed tense, sitting forward a little on the bench seat. "Okay. Dislocated shoulder. We can fix that." There was a note of relief in his voice. "Let's get outta here, put some distance between us and those weird ass freaks and I'll get it sorted, okay?"

He glanced over at Sam, forcing a stiff smile onto his face. "Hey, good shot there Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam furrowed his brow, subconsciously reading the off body language from his older sibling. "Dean, what's wrong?"

The Impala's engine rumbled to life with a low growl. Dean raised an eyebrow at him casually as he drove off. "Nothin' is wrong. 'M fine. Support your arm there, Sam."

The bullshit charade wasn't fooling Sam one bit. He bit back a groan at the car's movement. "When we get a safe distance pull over."

The back road was rough; Dean drove carefully, trying not to throw the Impala around. He shot a sideways glance at his brother. Sam was looking pale, hunched forward as he supported his injured shoulder. "You alright there, buddy?"

Sam nodded and Dean faced forwards again, gripping tight to the wheel as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He was blinking, forcing himself to focus, when he caught sight of a blaze of fire in the mirror. He took his foot off the gas, letting the Impala drift to a halt. Behind them the house was a bright beacon of flame.

Sam turned around and looked calmly at the chaos out of the back window. "Well, I guess there goes any lingering spirits, huh?"

Dean smirked. "Way to go, Sammy." He shifted uncomfortably, his face pale and tired in the glow of the dashboard lights as he drove on. "Another couple of miles and we'll get that shoulder back in, okay?"

"Okay." Sam replied. He waited in silence for about a mile before he leaned over and gently took the wheel with his good arm. "Dean, pull over, okay?" He gave his brother a moment to react and when Dean didn't seem to acknowledge him, he continued in a soothing tone. "Come on. I need you to get my arm back in before you pass out."

"Huh?" Dean sounded vague, turning his head slowly. "Yeah… okay. Your shoulder." He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and climbed out carefully, not quite able to suppress a little hitch in his breathing as he stood upright. He paused a moment, wiped the collar of his jacket across his face and walked unsteadily around to the passenger door.

Sam shoved the door open with his foot and tried to get out. It proved difficult with the way he was guarding his body. He pulled himself up with his good hand and took a huffing breath, steeling himself for the pain. He set his jaw. "Just do it."

Dean nodded. He took in a slow breath himself, clenched his teeth and grasped hold of his brother's shoulder and arm. There was no warning countdown, just a sharp, hard pull and the shoulder was wrenched back into its socket.

Sam screamed at the burn that had an intensity that almost dropped him. He caught himself against the door of the impala and stayed there a minute, trembling, swearing softly. His eyes held reflexive tears.

His brother bit back a whimper of pain of his own, fighting to keep his breathing under control as he leant against the side of the Impala. He reached out, rubbing Sam's back soothingly. "Sorry, dude. That sucks. I know."

"It's okay." Sam whispered. He wiped his jacket sleeve across his sweating forehead. "There's gotta be a better way than that, you know?"

Dean grunted. "You find it, be sure to let me know." Dislocated shoulders were all too common in a hunter's life.

"I hope we have vicodin in the back somewhere." Sam shuddered, trying to pull himself together as he turned to his brother. "Okay, what's wrong, lemme see?"

Dean was holding onto the Impala's back door for support, visibly shaking, looking at him with a hunted expression. His face was pale and sweaty in the spill of light from the car's interior. He suddenly blurted, "I don't wanna die Sam."

Sam's expression betrayed startlement before his eyes turned worried. "Okay I don't want you to either, buddy." He soothed. He stretched out his hands palm up, his tone conciliatory as if Dean was a frightened horse that might bolt. "What's wrong? Huh? 'S okay, Dean. I'm here. Okay?"

"I'm scared." Dean's voice was trembling. "I don't wanna go to hell. I'm runnin' outta time." The fear he'd tried to hide for so many months was suddenly naked on his face as he stared at his brother.

Fear. Desperation.

Sam read it with ease. "I know," he responded. "I know you are. I get it. I do...I'm scared too." He advanced on Dean, a careful step at a time-certain that something was very wrong with him. "...Really, really scared. But we gotta take care of you now, okay?"

"Sam?" Dean put a hand out to his brother. To stop him or beckon him forward was anyone's guess. Perhaps both.

"Are you hurt now?" Sam took the pale wrist, tightening his fingers around him, subversively feeling the pulse point. "What is it?"

Dean swallowed. "Not feelin' too good man. You okay to drive?" He swayed, his face miserable. "I'm meant to be the one lookin' after you."

Sam nodded. "I can drive." He stepped closer into his sibling's personal space and gently turned Dean around to look at his back.

Dean groaned, staggering a little.

Sam pulled up the jacket to reveal the broken end of what looked like a home-made cross bow bolt sticking out of his brother's lower back. The bolt had been fired with enough force to pass right through his leather jacket, although the fletching appeared to have caught in the leather, causing the top end of the shaft to shatter and fall away.

"Okay." Sam struggled to keep his voice level but almost broke out into a sob. "It's okay, Dean...god, why are you worried about my shoulder when you...okay..." he realized that he had to put away his frustrations and tend to the wounds. Dean was too fragile to take any verbal barrage. "Nevermind."

His brother turned slowly, blinking owlishly and patting at Sam's arm clumsily. He looked confused, lost, on the verge of going into shock.

Sam paused, trying to force his mind to think rationally. Sorting through the options he had with the efficiency of what his father had trained him to be. "Okay, I've got a med kit in the back. Motel is only about two miles away..." He pulled the jacket up a little more and checked again to see if the bolt was likely to have hit any internal organs. It was buried above his right hip bone, had traveled nearly straight through to his abdominal wall. Sam lifted the front of his brother's shirt, exposing the taut and trembling belly. "Okay." He felt his heart give a little lurch. He categorized what was in that quadrant of the body. Intestines. Appendix. Ureter. The shot had swung wide, it was more aligned with the outside of the hip. Too low to have hit a kidney.

Dean began listing sideways, holding onto Sam's good arm, trying to avoid the injured shoulder. "Need to sit down, Sammy. M'not feelin' so good." His voice was wobbly, eyes losing focus. "Gotta get this thing outta my back."

"Yeah. We do." Sam kept hold of Dean with one hand and used the other to open the back door. He helped his brother to lay on his front across the large bench seat. "Stay on your stomach, okay?"

"Not goin' anywhere."

"Okay. Don't roll onto your back. I'm gonna get us to the motel and then we can get that outta you, okay?"

"Yeah." Dean's face was sad as his eyes tracked Sam's movements. "M'sorry, 'bout everythin'..."

"I'm sorry too." Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he closed the door.

Dean was gripping the edge of the seat, his tone harsh. "Let's just get through today, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam said, squeezing into the driver's seat and pulling back out onto the road. "Good plan."

He headed for the motel, trying to work out just how events had taken such a nasty turn. A few missing hikers, a family living in a haunted house, just a simple find the remains and salt'n'burn. Yeah okay. Until they'd been invited into the house, only to discover they were facing a psychotic serial killer and his son. A vicious fight had ended up with two dead serial killers and the brothers being locked in the cellar by the enraged ghost of one of the victims. All bad enough, but made so much worse by the unexpected appearance of the crossbow-bearing second son.

He could hear his brother's breathing, it sounded pained even over the growl of the Impala. _Hang on Dean,_ he thought, _just please hang in there._

.

 _ **TBC More soon!**_

 _ **Thanks for reading and reviewing. Please leave a review if you have a spare moment, we do appreciate it :-)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired_ _._

Thank you for reading. We really appreciate it! (CelineNaville and Mariamo)

 _._

 **Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Three**

 **.**

Sometimes a couple of miles can see like an eternity, especially when your brother is lying on the back seat, only the ragged mutter of him cursing under his breath letting you know he was still conscious. Sam swung onto the motel parking lot with relief, pulled up right outside the room door and carefully helped Dean out of the back seat.

"Just easy small steps, okay?"

Dean fisted hold of Sam's jacket, making no attempt to push him away. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Women are gonna love this one, huh?" Sam tried a light, conversational tone. "Sexy little scar above your hip?"

"Women already love me, Sammy." The words were slurred, Dean's head lolling forwards as he spoke.

Sam unlocked the motel room door. "Yeah, I know they do."

"They love you too, if you give 'em a chance."

Sam hid an amused smirk, guiding Dean inside. "Yeah, okay. I don't have as many cool scars as you though." Sam gently set Dean across the nearest bed, supporting his head with his arm and then lifting his legs up after him.

His consciousness visibly fading, Dean fought to focus on him, voice serious. "I love y'Sam, y'know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." Sam replied, trying not to cry. "I know." He didn't quite succeed in keeping the tears in check as he put Dean back onto his belly. He paused to take a deep breath and gather his reserves. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself in the bathroom and not come out.

Dean whimpered, mashing his face into the covers as he muttered through clenched teeth. "I don't wanna die today, Sam."

"I won't let you." Sam said, betraying none of his conflicting emotions in his voice. He was good at it. A good deal better at it than Dean. He bent to retrieve the little medical kit he'd left near the dresser and then pulled up Dean's t-shirt. He pulled the waistband of Dean's faded jeans down just a bit with his thumb, trying to get a good look at the wound he was dealing with.

His brother groaned helplessly.

"Yep." Sam acknowledged. "Easy, dude."

"Get this thing outta me, Sam."

Sam hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to go about pulling out the bolt. "I'm trying. Give me a minute." He huffed, brow furrowed in concentration and brushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes. "Not like we have extensive experience with a crossbow injuries, you know?" At least the shape of the hole in the leather jacket suggested the bolt head was a simple, straight head.

There was a desperate little laugh. "Awesome. Just grab it an' pull it out dude."

Sam set his jaw. "Okay." He took another one of his trademark huffing breaths and took the shaft as close to the skin as he could. He placed his other hand on the small of Dean's back. He could feel himself sweating. He steeled himself and yanked up with a wrenching twist, using the same technique he would to pull a crossbow bolt out of a target. _That_ he had experience with. Pulling it out of flesh? Not so much.

Dean went rigid, his back arching as a scream forced itself out through his clenched teeth.

The bolt didn't come free at first. Sam felt it snag a little on Dean's pelvic bone. He worked it up gently and pulled again. "Got it."

"Uhhh…" Dean was barely conscious now, eyes glazed as he slumped, aftershocks of pain making his frame judder and shake.

"Hurts." Sam soothed. "I know. Hang in there." He pressed gauze against the wound to stanch the bleeding.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean groaned, sweat running off his face. "D'ya think this is like hell, Sammy?"

"You just might need a hospital..." The abruptness of the question threw him off guard and he winced like Dean hit him. "I... I don't know."

A tear gathered in the corner of his brother's eye. He shook his head a little. "No hospital, okay?"

Sam ignored the last statement. "Look, I'm going to get you out of the deal and you'll never have to find out. Okay?" Suddenly he registered Dean's predictable request to avoid professional medical intervention, which he may just need. "But you might have a hot nurse? I'm not a hot nurse. I'm not giving you a sponge bath."

"Still better here with you, Sam... Crap, did I just say that..." The words were slurred, his brother's eyes half shut.

"You'd rather be with me than a hot nurse?" Sam snorted. "You really are dying...Dean?"

Dean sighed. "I like hot nurses Sam, don't get me wrong. But... Mom's gone, Dad's gone. Couldn't face livin' without you Sam, had to make that deal. You're the only place I feel safe, d'ya know that?" He dragged in a breath. "Oh man I feel like shit... I'm gonna deny saying this chick flick crap tomorrow… We got any whiskey?"

"Yeah. Yeah we do." Sam stood up, stretched, popping his back and grabbed some Jack Daniels. He handed it to Dean. There was a pause. "I'm mad at you, you know. I don't wanna be but I am."

Dean took a good swallow of liquor, looking sad.

"Don't choke on that."

"Didn't mean to make you mad, Sam."

"I know. I..." Sam sighed and rubbed at his own injured shoulder, not finishing the thought.

"It's just... you were lying there... dead... y'know? And I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't..." A tear slipped down Dean's cheek.

"But now you've left me with this...how do you think I feel?"

"Wasn't thinkin' at the time Sam, wasn't thinkin' about anything but saving you... least when it goes down you'll know it was my choice, not just some random bad shit."

Sam looked pained. He clenched his jaw so tightly he heard his molars grind. "That doesn't help. At all."

Dean reached out, grasping at his wrist. "I'll try not to die Sammy, okay?"

"I'm gonna be alone now..." Sam's throat closed.

"No. No you won't. You... you're a good man Sam, you'll find someone. Everythin'll be okay, I promise."

Sam went down on his knees next to Dean, leaned his head on the bed. "How can it be okay when I know you're in HELL, Dean?"

His brother patted his head clumsily.

"You think that won't haunt me every day for the rest of my life?"

"No!" Dean's tone was desperate. "Don't you say that! You've gotta go out there and live, live for the both of us. Make it worth something."

"It's not worth anything without you! Don't you get that I love you too? That you're all I've got too? Huh?! Why don't you get that?" Sam broke into a sob. A single sob. Then another. And another.

Dean wound his fist into Sam's hair. "Dammit Sam! I know you do. But you're stronger than me. You can do this!"

"You're so stupid sometimes!" Sam shouted. "Because! Because you don't get that this is a death sentence for me too! You don't get what you've done to me!" His face twisted into something so much younger and more lost than his 25 years. "You don't get that this isn't fair! It's not fair!"

Dean sat up, color leaching out of his face, almost passing out as he grabbed Sam by the shoulders. "'M so sorry buddy. I know it's not fair..."

"It's never been fair and I..." Sam choked on a sob and pulled his big brother into a desperate hug, shaking.

Dean hung on tight, hugging him back as the room swooped around him sickeningly. "We'll try Sam, okay, try and beat this thing..."

"Okay. Okay, fuck what am I doing? You're hurt and I'm bawling on you." Sam wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve, his sinuses a mix of tears and snot and mucous. "I'm going to put you down, okay? Back down and then I'll sew you up. And I'll see if we have any Vicodin in the car."

Dean patted his face clumsily. "You've always been good at bawlin' on me Sam, I'm your big brother." A sloppy grin stretched across his face, words dragging slowly. "I, uh, I think I'm gonna pass out now for a bit man, 'm sorry…" He slumped forwards into Sam's chest.

"Dean?" Sam caught him. "Hey." He pressed his fingers to his brother's neck, feeling his pulse.

Dean was limp, eyes closed.

"Dean. Wake up." Sam patted his cheek, could feel the stubble under his fingers. "Don't go into shock here. Talk to me."

Dean's eyelids fluttered, breathing ragged. "Uhhh…"

Sam lowered him back down and began to clean the wound. His brother was disturbingly unresponsive. "Stay with me." Sam said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Listen to my voice. Huh?"

"M'here…" The whisper was barely audible.

"Tell me about...I don't know…" Sam hesitated, looking for a topic of conversation to snag Dean's waning attention. "The last girl you were with. Was she nice?"

A little smile played at his brother's mouth. "She was hot…"

"Okay. Hot. Blonde, brunette? What was her name? Do you remember?"

Dean's eyelids flickered, eyes slivers of green. "Nooo…"

"Hmmm?" Sam patted his upper back with a big hand. "Dean. I'm talking to you, Dude."

His brother's voice was thick, slurring the words. "D'you ever wonder, what it would be like… to just stay next mornin'... but you do know, y'had Jess."

"What?" Sam wrinkled his nose, a little thrown off by Dean's suddenly philosophical stream of consciousness.

"You had Jess. Must've been nice." Dean's breath came out in a little sigh. "I'm really tired, Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam purposefully shut his emotions down on the subject. It was dangerous territory. Territory he couldn't wander into right now. Not with Dean like this. Not with the impending doom of losing his brother too. His love, his father, his brother... "Yeah it was nice. I need you awake, Dean. Please."

"So tired..."

Sam poured antiseptic liberally into the wound, needle in hand, ready to stitch. "Dean. Buddy?"

His brother pushed up a little, hissing with pain, eyes rolling. "What... what's goin' on?"

"I'm sewing you up." Sam pressed down with his off hand to hold his patient still and carefully began to sew a neat line of stitches over the wound. He was methodical, careful. There would barely be a scar. Maybe no scar at all. "Easy..."

"Oh." Dean sounded bewildered. "Is... is Dad here?"

Sam winced. "He's...uh...he's not here right now. I am."

"Okaay…" came the whispered reply, trusting him, relaxing a little, even half-conscious and delirious with pain.

"Listen to me." Sam began fishing for something to say. Something to keep Dean from passing out or sliding into shock. "My first time...you know Dean, I didn't get laid until I was 18."

"Huh?" That filtered through, getting Dean's attention. His eyebrow raised a little. "Hmm sly dog, Sammy. Kept that quiet."

"Sly?" Sam snorted. "Yeah. Real sly. We got caught by her room mate."

Dean huffed, wincing as the movement jarred his back.

"It was embarrassing," Sam felt himself flush a little. "Truly."

"You shoulda asked her to join in, dude." Even with his eyes closed, there was a smirk on Dean's face.

Sam barked a stunned laugh. "Oh god, Dean! Come on, man."

"What?"

"A three way, my first time. Yeah. That's likely." He shook his head with a rueful smile. God he loved Dean sometimes.

"Nothin' wrong with three-way, more to go around." The husky voice trailed off.

"I'm kind of glad you're probably not going to remember any of this later."

Dean moved his head restlessly, swallowing. "Gonna hurl, Sam... Remember what?"

"Gonna hurl? Hearing about my sex life is that bad, huh?" Sam neatly tied off the stitches and began fishing for the small metal trash can.

"You have a sex life... way to go dude. Uh Sam?" Dean retched.

Sam dove and put the garbage can under Dean's head just in time. He grabbed him and guided him until he had his face near the edge of the mattress. "Don't puke on the bed, dude. Turn your head."

His brother heaved, gagged. "Don't feel good, what's wrong with me..."

Sam put a hand between his shoulders. "It's okay."

"Nothin's okay. Why does my back hurt Sam?"

"Relax." Sam replied. "I'm here."

"Are we okay?"

"We are. Shhh." Sam slid his hand over his brother's shoulder blades, rubbing a soothing circle.

"Can I go to sleep now, Sam? 'M really tired..."

Sam checked the pulse. It didn't seem elevated or thready. "I think." He paused. "I think you can for a bit. Okay? I'll be right here."

"Okay... Sam? Don't go away…" Dean's head dropped, fingers unfurling from their grip on the covers as he finally let go and slid over the edge into unconsciousness.

 ** _More in the next chapter..._**

 ** _Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!_**


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired_ _._

Thank you for reading and reviewing! We do really appreciate it! (CelineNaville and Mariamo)

 _._

 **Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Four**

 **.**

Sam dozed in fitful spurts on the opposite bed from Dean. The ice pack on his shoulder had long ago stopped being cold, but he found himself too tired to care.

Dean's eyes opened. His thoughts rolled slowly, struggling through his memories to place himself face down on the blue covered bed. Something had woken him. Pain. His lower back felt as though it was on fire.

He moved his head carefully. No sign of Sam. "Uhh…" He coughed, trying to clear the thick feeling in his sore throat. "Sam? Sam?"

There was no answer. Dean struggled to move, trying to roll on one side, but the pain struck viciously at him. He hissed, tried again. Failed. "Sam!"

"What?" Sam jerked awake and almost fell off the bed.

Dean focussed on his brother with a feeling of relief. "There y'are." His tone sharpened, concern giving it an edge as he saw the awkward way Sam was moving. "You okay there man?"

"Of course I'm here!" Sam slid out of bed onto his knees and flopped himself on his ass next to Dean's bedside. He leaned his back against the mattress and let his head drop backwards. "You scared the hell out of me."

Dean puffed out a relieved breath. "Thought you'd gone." Big brother mode kicked in almost immediately. "You should be in bed. You had your meds?"

"Stop mothering me, Dean." Sam mumbled through his sleepy state. "I WAS in bed. You woke me up."

Unseen, Dean flinched at the words.

Sam moaned and wiped a hand across his eyes. "Actually, I should probably grab some of the antibiotics from the med kit for you. Last thing you need is some horrible infection setting in."

His brother patted his shoulder. "I'm okay, bit sore that's all. Here, help me up." He tried again to roll onto his side and sucked in a breath, turning his face away to hide the grimace of pain he couldn't control. "We gotta get out of here," he muttered.

"No. Lay back down." Sam pulled himself to his feet stiffly, took out first aid kit and began to rifle through it. The commotion of Dean's movement made him turn his head to observe his brother. "Dean, lie down," he said sharply.

His brother was still floundering slowly around. "Give me a hand here will ya! We gotta go!"

"Why do we have to go?" Sam shook out a pill from an amber prescription bottle. "Ghost is dead. I headshotted psycho. We're good."

"Dude!" Dean's voice rose in frustration. "There's a corpse a few miles back with a bullet in the brain! Okay, so he was a monster lovin' psycho freak, but the cops won't see it that way!"

"Yeah but it's so deserted out there it should be days before anyone notices." Sam called from the bathroom. He returned with a glass of water.

"Can't take that chance Sammy... I don't wanna spend my last few weeks in a cell."

Sam winced. "Here..." he sat down on the bedside and gathered his brother up into the crook of one arm. He gave Dean the pill and held out the water. "Swallow it."

Even that amount of movement was enough to make Dean's head swim to the extent he wasn't aware of the little hurt noise that escaped. He screwed his eyes shut, letting Sam take his weight, breathing hard for a few seconds until he could open them again. He took the pill, dry swallowing it, glaring at Sam. He wanted them out of this motel, out of this state, but didn't have the energy to fight the weakness in his own body.

Sam held the water out. "Drink?"

Begrudgingly Dean took the glass, took a sip. He swallowed gratefully, relaxing a little as the cool liquid eased his sore throat.

Sam held Dean propped up in his arm a moment more, watching him. There was an intimately weird moment between them as Sam studied his brother's face with an unguarded look of tenderness before he dropped his gaze.

"Can I put you down now? My shoulder is killing me and you're like a ton of bricks."

"Sorry buddy." Instantly guilty, Dean lurched away, nearly over-balancing in his rush to avoid hurting his brother.

"Grumpy bricks." Sam smiled. "It's okay."

"Let me see your shoulder... you got full movement there?" His brother's face was tight with worry.

"It's stiff as hell." Sam winced and tried to rotate it a little. "But I think it's in joint. Just didn't like me hauling you around at night." He took the glass from Dean, chugged the rest of the water.

"Sam. We really gotta go. You can rest in the car. I'm good to go..." Dean gritted his teeth and forced himself up onto his feet. He actually felt the blood drain out of his face, turning quickly away so Sam couldn't see.

"I'm not letting you drive like this." Sam put some authority into his voice. Not like jackass would listen. "Sit down."

When he was predictably ignored, he took Dean by the shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. Sit down."

Dean shrugged him off, staggering a little as he snatched up the car keys. "I said I'm good to go dude." He headed for the door, swatting away Sam's hovering hand.

"Dean." Sam's voice became stern again. "Sit down."

His brother launched himself out of the doorway, face determined. He stumbled on the step, bumped gratefully into the Impala and turned to Sam with a forced grin on his face. "Let's get this show on the road Sammy."

Sam looked at his brother, his voice and face betraying his distress. "God dammit Dean. You're in no shape for this."

"Nothin' wrong with my shape." A cheesy grin was plastered on Dean's face as he delivered the expected smartass response, although the eyes above were blank, emotions carefully hidden. He shakily removed the keys from the door lock and almost fell into the driver's seat, feeling suddenly so much worse than he'd expected.

"Nope." Sam reached in and hauled him out like an errant child. "We're not doing this."

"What! Sam! What the fuck!"

Sam held his brother with one arm and closed Baby's door. It slammed with its familiar creak. "You're listening to me for once."

"Goddammit." Dean's protest held no strength as he tried to twist away from Sam's grip. He sucked in a breath, dropping his face away from his brother's gaze, tried again. "Can we just go?"

"Nope." Six-foot-four of Sam Winchester muscled him back away from the car. "I'm the one who's not half dead here, so you're listening to me, okay?"

"I'm not half dead." Dean swallowed, feeling his legs start to shake; he didn't sound too convinced about his own statement.

"I'm the one making the decisions today." Sam tried to put authority into his voice. It wasn't a role he was accustomed to. "We're going back into the motel and taking care of that frigging wound and resting until noon. Then _I'm_ driving."

Dean staggered, grabbed at Sam's shirt front and hung on, suddenly too dizzy to stand alone. He swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. "Sonofabitch!"

"Easy." Sam herded him back inside, supporting him.

Painfully aware of his brother's injured shoulder, Dean fought to stay upright, the effort sending his vision patchy as his legs began to give way.

"You had a crossbow bolt in your back. You're lucky it didn't hit any internal...agh!" Sam bit back a cry as he took Dean's weight.

Even half conscious, Dean responded immediately to the sound of his brother's distress. He twisted away from him, almost passing out as he dropped onto the bed. For a moment everything slowed down. He could hear his own voice, slurring from far away. "Sorry man, just need to lie down a coupla minutes..."

Sam collapsed onto the floor next to his brother's bedside and leaned his head back against the mattress, sweating.

"Sam?"

"What?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Dean shuffled up the bed on his belly until his head was aligned with the back of Sam's. He threw his arm carefully around the front of brother's shoulders. "I've got you buddy. You okay there?"

"I'm fine." Sam's tone was dismissive. "Chill out." He leaned his shaggy head into him. "So this is weird, huh?"

"Huh?" He wasn't sure exactly what Sam was referring to, so much of their lives would classify as 'weird' to an outsider. Right now, lying face down on a bed that seemed to be drifting slowly to the right, it had gone beyond weird and into surreal. He kneaded gently at his brother's injured shoulder, slow, soothing circles with his fingers. The bed continued to slide sideways; the throb of his own pulse felt suddenly too fast, too obvious, an all too familiar sign of the beginnings of fever. Closing his eyes against the dizziness, Dean dropped his head onto the mattress, letting it roll sideways until the back of his skull rested against his brother's head. Somehow it anchored him, stopped him drifting away.

"Like in those W _here Do You See Yourself in 10 Years Essays_...I never thought to put _collapsed in a motel with my brother who has taken a crossbow shot to the back and sold his soul for me..."_ Sam paused. _"_ I don't know why I didn't see it coming."

Dean snorted a little laugh. "Where did you see yourself, Sammy?"

He answered immediately. "Graduating college. Married. _Mayyyybe_ kids... not sure. Definitely not here."

Dean grinned, unseen, but the amusement clear in his tone. "Oh yeah dude… rugrats, crazy hair." He had a sudden vision of multiple small copies of his brother, all with wild mops of brown hair and huge puppy dog eyes. It was a pleasant thought, but brought with it a pang of sorrow that he wouldn't be around to see them.

"I mean even if I'd forseen the whole hunter thing, I didn't see the whole hell deal on the horizon."

"Nobody saw that one comin' Sam." Dean's voice was quiet, resigned.

"Yeah. Probably kids, eventually. Career... _definitely_ wanted a wife. I wanted a girl to come home to every night. It was nice...It was really nice, actually."

"You've still got time for all that... I hope you get the whole deal man."

Sam's voice was flat. "Not gonna mean anything now."

Dean raised his head, incredulous. "Don't say that!"

"Don't even want it anymore." Sam's voice was bitter. "That ship sailed and I wasn't on it."

"That's a load of bull! That ship is still there if you want to get on it."

"Keep telling yourself that."

There was a little pause, then Dean murmured quietly, "Those essays, I hated doing 'em. I just used to make stuff up y'know. Rock star, awesome stock car driver... Truth was, this is where I thought I'd be, dying somewhere or already dead. This _is_ my life Sam, it was always gonna be my life."

"Dean..." Sam's tone softened. "You should have been those things."

His brother laughed, the sound soft, half muffled in the covers as he shook his head. "Yeah. Right."

"I'm sorry you couldn't dream that for yourself at that age."

"Dream?" Dean sighed. "Stopped dreaming a long time ago."

"Okay, well you can't sing but neither can half the bands you like..." Sam smirked, waited for the inevitable blow to the back of the head. He was not disappointed.

"Hey!" Lean fingers flicked a light slap up the side of his head. "Just cos you don't appreciate good music! Stock car driver though… now you're talking."

Sam turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye, shuffling sideways on his ass. "You're good with cars at high speeds."

"I'd have been awesome!" His brother's face lit up with enthusiasm as he pictured a life full of fast cars and skimpily clad women.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Yeah, I think you would have been."

Dean grinned at him. "Hey, let's get outta here, go and have some fun." There'd been enough time wasted, he thought, too many hours of their lives spent waiting for injuries to heal.

Sam brought him back to reality. "Kinda hard to go anywhere and have fun when you can't walk."

"I'm okay, Sammy. Just a bit dizzy there, that's all." Dean smiled at him reassuringly, playing it down, just like he always did.

"Sure you are."

"Look, I, uh…" Dean dropped his eyes, suddenly awkward. "I know you're kinda pissed at me right now..."

"I'm not upset." Sam said wearily, putting his back against the mattress again. His shoulders bearing the tension of some invisible weight.

"Yeah. Yeah you are. It's my fault. So let's get outta here and do something, I dunno, something normal people do, huh?" His eagerness to please was written all over his face. "Hey, maybe there's a... bookshop or somethin'?"

"Dean...you can't walk." Mr. Ruin Everything replied. "We can do that when you're feeling better okay? I need to get my ass up and change your dressing anyway." Sam didn't move.

"I'm really tryin' here, dude. I'm no good at this chick stuff, y'know?"

"I know you are." Sam groaned and pulled himself to his feet. "You know, that's the nicest thing about having a girl..."

Puzzled, Dean raised an eyebrow, staring at him intently.

"There's no...wall...there's none of this _I'm Fine Macho Bullshit_ we do."

The eyebrow dropped down, a little frown appearing instead. "Wall?"

Sam was busying himself with med supplies. "I could go home and just say: _Jess, I'm scared. Or Jess, I'm sad._ I don't know, they relate differently, man." He paused, deep in thought. "I think we were sort of gypped out of that growing up."

"You can say that to me Sammy. You used to." Dean sounded a little offended.

Sam snorted, his lip turned into a wry smile. "When I was five?"

A fond little grin quirked at his brother's mouth. He looked at Sam affectionately. "Bit longer than that buddy."

"Okay, til like ten." Sam was getting out the gauze and antiseptic and anything else he could find to keep his brother afloat.

"Nah!" Dean snorted, laughing. "Sixteen!"

"I call bull." Sam snorted back at him. He paused, suddenly regretful. "And you never got to say stuff like that to anyone much. You should've been able to."

"Yeah. To who Sam?"

"Me. I was always there."

Dean looked away. "I'm not gonna lay that kind of shit on you dude."

"It's not LAYING it on me. I'm your brother. That's why I'm there. It's more like letting me in."

Dean stayed silent, eyes averted.

"See?" Sam felt frustration biting at him.

"I'm okay. There's nothin' to tell." Dean's tone left no room for argument.

Sam peeled off the bloody gauze and looked at Dean's back. "Yeah. You tell me that a lot." He snorted derisively. "You're so transparent it's almost funny."

Dean hissed, flinching a little as the gauze came away. He stared at Sam, a hint of panic on his face as he realised he was in a position where he couldn't walk away from a conversation that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Deciding to meet it head on, his chin came up a little, gaze hardening. "So what d'you see then, Sam?" he challenged.

"This is going to sting a little." Sam poured the antiseptic on the wound, and didn't bother to hide the double entendre.

Already feeling under verbal attack, Dean clenched his teeth, biting back the groan that wanted so badly to escape. Pain streaked across his back. He ground his teeth, determined not to give anything away.

"You think you're so good at hiding what you feel, but you're not." Sam continued, relentless in his honesty. "At all...You give it away with every expression. Every clench of your jaw. Every snide remark."

Embarrassed, almost humiliated, Dean flushed. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to brush it off. "What are you talking about! I'm a master of disguise." He forced a laugh, the false notes hanging in the air between them.

"You've got a terrible poker face, man."

"Seems to earn us enough." A little note of bitterness crept into Dean's tone.

Sam was on a freakin' roll. "God, when you came to get me at Stanford...before I left the night of the fire..."

Dean shifted again, clearly wanting to escape. His eyes were worried, wondering what Sam was about to dig up now.

"When I said that I needed to go in to get some rest for my interview the next day and you thought I wasn't going with you...that _LOOK_...You think I didn't catch that?' Sam eyes were distant at the memory.

"What goddamn _look_! Seem to remember you still went in."

"Yeah I did." Sam said quietly. "I went in."

Taking the only escape route currently open to him, Dean dropped his head, hiding his expression from his brother.

"Because I had built something I wanted...And I was trying to go back to it."

Dean winced. I'm sorry you didn't get to stay, Sammy."

"Yeah, me too." Sam said with a finality, like he were wrapping up. "But, hey, I'm here with you now." He covered the wound with gauze and taped it back up.

Green eyes sought his, full of sorrow as emotion pulled at his brother's face. "Yeah, you are… 'Cause you don't have nowhere else to go."

"That's not true." Sam screwed the cap back on the peroxide. Gathered the bloody dressing.

"I see things too, Sam. I'm not as dumb as you think I am."

"I'm here because I want to be." A pause. "I don't think you're dumb, Dean."

"Yeah, right. You were so quick to introduce me to your college buddies. It's okay, I get it. I do. You just don't need me the same way I..." He trailed off, had said more than he intended. The bitterness this time was unmistakable.

That actually pierced through Sam's defenses. He looked guilty, still holding the gory mess of his brother's blood in his big hand. "Dean...I'm sorry about..."

"Stop. Just friggin' stop. I can't deal with this bullshit." Dean moved towards the edge of the bed. "I'm gettin' up and I'm going out. Now."

"No." Sam pushed a hand down on his back. "Come on. Stay down. Don't be a dick."

Dean swatted at him, knocking the old dressing out of Sam's grasp onto the floor.

"Get offa me Sam!" It was an angry growl as Dean rolled slowly off the far side of the bed and stood up, swaying alarmingly. His face was pale, cheekbones dark with anger, or fever, or distress, or quite possibly a combination of all three. "I don't give a rat's ass about that shit now. I'm sorry I fucked up your life, but _I can't do anything about it_! It's too fucking late! Why don't you _get_ that!"

"That's not what I'm saying to you!" Sam yelled back. "Where are you even getting that?"

"Then what _are_ you saying Sam? Apparently you can read me like a book, so you tell me. 'Cause I sure as hell can't work you out!"

"I was gonna say I'm sorry about Stanford! I'm sorry I didn't introduce you to my friends!" Sam's voice had dropped into something deeper than usual. "God! Why do you get this way every time we talk about anything that means anything!"

His brother stared at him, the lines around his mouth tight. "You probably did the smart thing Sam, I would've embarrassed you."

"I was afraid you'd..." Sam put in quietly. He turned away guiltily. "Yeah...that."

Dean's face went ghost white, his expression absolutely stunned.

"They're just not...they're not used to blue collar guys like us. That's all."

Dean's voice was harsh. "Like me, you mean."

"They didn't have our backgrounds. They don't understand. That's all it was, that's _why,_ I swear!" There was a desperation in Sam's voice.

"I've never been ashamed of _you_ , Sammy."

"Dean, these people had pools and maids and..." he dropped his head again, hiding behind his hair. "I'm not _ashamed_ of you."

"So if you'd stayed, you'd always have been embarrassed by me." Dean sounded winded. "Would you even have asked me to your wedding Sam? Hell, I didn't know you were thinkin' of getting engaged 'til old yellow eyes let it out."

He turned away, scooping up the Impala keys as he walked unsteadily to the door.

"Yes!" Sam was visibly upset, almost shaking. Teary-eyed. "Yes! _Of course_ you'd be in my wedding!"

"Huh. Yeah. What as?" Dean looked over his shoulder. "The pool cleaner… park the fancy cars maybe… for the real guests?" He shook his head in disgust.

"Oh come on!" Sam whirled on him. "That's not fair!" The tears were still standing in his eyes.

"Forget it Sam." Dean grabbed his jacket.

"No," Sam's voice was conciliatory. "Come on, man. Gimme the keys."

"Stay outta my face." Dean yanked the room door open and stepped unsteadily outside, bouncing slightly off the door frame. He slammed it behind him, the shockwave rocking the rickety table next to the doorway.

.

 _ **Poor boys... continued in the next chapter.**_

 _ **Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_"Forget it Sam." Dean grabbed his jacket._

 _"No," Sam's voice was conciliatory. "Come on, man. Gimme the keys."_

 _"Stay outta my face." Dean yanked the room door open and stepped unsteadily outside, bouncing slightly off the door frame. He slammed it behind him, the shockwave rocking the rickety table next to the doorway._

 _._

 **Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Five**

 **.**

"Best man! You'd've been my best man! Come on."

The Impala door slammed, cutting him off.

Sam walked over to car. "You're gonna leave me here?!" He pulled open the driver's side door with its usual groaning protest.

His brother was hunched over the wheel, face grey and sweating. He looked really pissed. "I'm gonna go get a drink."

Sam made a grab for the keys. "No! You're not!"

"Don't make me hit you dude!" Dean growled, glowering at him.

Sam pushed the door fully open and used his body weight to muscle Dean over, settling himself behind the wheel.

Dean gasped, grabbing involuntarily at his back as the pain flared viciously. He tried to stop his slide across the seat, kicked out, but missed Sam and ended up folded awkwardly on the passenger side, half on the seat, half in the footwell. He blinked furiously, refusing to let the visible evidence of his pain spill down his face and ground his teeth, breathing through his nose as he fought against the rolling waves of nausea and dizziness.

Sam settled behind the wheel, clearly furious. "You wanna drive? FINE. We're driving." He slammed Baby's door hard enough to shake the whole car. "...Leaving half our shit in that motel room, but we're DRIVING now."

He turned the key in the ignition and peeled out, leaving a trail of rubber smelling smoke behind them. "Where to, Dean? Huh?"

"Dammit Sam!" Dean tried desperately to pull himself fully onto the seat, fighting against the motion of the Impala as Sam hurled it around the bends. His back dragged painfully up against the glove box and he lost all his strength in a rush of nausea, sprawling again, feeling sick.

"Hell Sam. Let's just go straight to hell." His voice was husky, shaking.

"What's wrong? Not feeling so hot?" Sam's voice was not sympathetic as he spared his awkwardly sprawled older brother a glance. "Almost like we should've stayed lying down, huh? We're already in hell, I think."

Dean held onto the seat, fingers digging into the leather. He didn't answer, his face had taken on a definite greenish hue, throat rippling as he swallowed.

"And now you have no place to go to avoid talking." Sam lectured. "Unless you're gonna hurl yourself out the window."

His brother eyed up the door handle, his expression suggesting he was seriously considering that as an option.

Sam saw the look. "Don't you dare."

Dean smirked at him, snatching at the handle. The door swung open and he levered himself towards the gap.

Sam gave him a bitch face and slammed on the brakes. "I will knock you the fuck out! I swear to god. I will."

The sudden application of the brakes was enough to pitch Dean completely off the seat, the door slamming shut as the Impala rocked to a halt. He slid into the footwell with a surprised grunt of pain and began to laugh quietly, a note of misery in the sound.

Sam glared at Dean and put Baby in park. She idled softly.

His brother flapped around like a landed fish, long legs everywhere, one booted foot getting wedged by the gear shift. His eyes were glassy and feverish, hair sticking up in wild spikes.

Sam crossed his arms watching the pathetic fit of temperament for a minute. "Are you done now?"

"I'm done… Sonofabitch, I'm so fuckin' done." Dean sounded depressed as his head dropped sideways against the seat. "Sam, 'm stuck."

Sam looked at him, considering.

Dean wriggled uncomfortably; he was shivering a little, sweat beaded on his face.

"Did you hurt yourself again?"

"No!" Dean struggled some more, trying to free his boot, giving up almost immediately and flopping back, looking exhausted.

"Okay," Sam said, "then I think you might be safer down there." He put the car in drive and pulled onto the road.

"What the hell! Are you kiddin' me!" Dean's voice cracked. With the gear shift now in 'drive' he finally managed to free his boot, but jabbed it viciously at the stick, trying to knock it back out.

"Dean! What are you doing?!" Sam's voice was stunned, baffled.

"Honestly Sam... I don't know." His brother sounded upset. "I just don't know anymore!" He booted again at the gear shift, catching Sam's leg instead.

"Oh my god! Are you a toddler now?!"

 _"_ _Toddler!_ I didn't need to hear that shit, not now. I just wanted to get away from here, maybe have a day doing somethin' with my little brother… before it's too fucking _late!"_ He seemed to run out of steam, then muttered quietly, "Before it's too late."

Sam heard the unspoken plea to be understood and abruptly changed tracks. "Okay, Dean." He pulled the car over again. Good thing people weren't passing by or there would sure be some suspicious looks. Sam shifted into park.

He turned around and half-kneeled on the seat over his brother, too tall and almost bent in half. He tried to reason through Dean's pain. "Dude, we can't have a day doing something nice when you're in this shape."

"Get me out of here Sam." Dean turned his face away.

"Okay." Sam replied. "Okay, hang on."

He backed out of the car awkwardly, having to twist his bulk around agilely to get out without banging his head. He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and knelt down. There was a pause while he took in his brother's distress.

Dean was shivering, face white. "Awesome job," he muttered at himself bitterly. "Pull me out Sam."

"Okay." Sam took him under the arms and pulled him out with a grunt of protest as his shoulder flared.

Dean landed on his ass on the roadside. He looked resigned as he mutely patted Sam's knee in thanks.

"You okay now?" Sam panted. "You're really heavy."

"Yeah." He squinted up at Sam, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as he remembered his brother's shoulder injury.

Sam sat down next to him and crossed his long legs, still breathing heavily. "Of course I would have invited you to the wedding." There was a long pause, punctuated only by their distressed respiration. "What WAS that back there?"

"You would have invited me, huh?" The bitterness was back, blended with a large portion of hurt. "Hey, this is Dean. Aw sorry Jess, did I forget to mention him? He kind of raised me, right up until I left and didn't bother to even let him know I was _still alive_! Oh, he's m'brother by the way."

Sam winced visibly. "Hey, I told her about you. You KNOW that!"

"No Sammy, I don't know. I don't know jack shit about your life once you walked out that door."

Sam rather uncharacteristically sprang to his own defense. "The first thing Jess said when you walked in was "This is Dean? THE Dean?"...She knew. She always knew."

"She must've thought it was pretty weird, huh? Us not speaking. Or did you tell her it was all our fault? Poor little Sammy and his shitty fucked-up family."

Sam's expression suddenly looked very hurt.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Truth hurts Sam." He lurched to his feet, hanging onto the Impala for balance.

"That's not the truth," Sam muttered under his breath as he rose to help his older brother. "Be careful."

"You really don't get it Sam, do you? I'd already lost you once, I know what that feels like. And you weren't even dead. I couldn't go through that again. That's why we're in this fucking mess now."

Sam's jaw tightened and his eyes flashed, almost like he was prepared to argue. Then the steam went out of him. "You know what. Forget it."

He stood holding Dean's weight on his arm, paused and then said. "I care about you too, you know. It's not just one way. It's NEVER been one way."

Dean shrugged him off, propping himself more securely against the Impala.

Sam let him go, watching him attentively. "And I was wrong. I was trying to fit in with people I never really fit in with."

Dean frowned, angry at any slight aimed at his little brother. "You fit in okay, 'til I came back and messed it all up." A mixture of guilt and misery sat uncomfortably on his face. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stayed away."

Sam huffed and shook his head. "I wish you thought better of yourself. I really do." He looked into Dean's green eyes. The eyes that sunk a thousand women. "And no, I was never one of _them_. I was the kid on scholarship."

His brother sent him a sad little smile. "Don't sell yourself short, Sammy. You were better than any of 'em." He pawed at his back a little, reaching under his jacket.

"Yeah. Except they didn't desert their families."

"Maybe they didn't need to." Dean swiped his fingers shakily across his forehead, frowning at the moisture on his fingertips.

Enough of the pitiful display of machismo, Sam thought, deciding to mercy kill it by helping Dean stagger into the car. "Take it easy."

His brother shivered, shifting uneasily on the seat. "Your shoulder okay there, Sam?"

"Well, we aren't doing it any favors."

"Huh? No shit." Dean snorted, a flicker of amusement appearing around his mouth.

"Dad would kick our asses if he could see us now." Sam said.

A little smile stretched suddenly over Dean's face. "Yeah, he sure would."

Sam smirked, almost laughed.

"Bitch." It was a peace offering.

"Jerk..." the word was said with a fondness. A love.

"Hey?" Dean grinned at him ruefully.

"What?"

"We gotta stop having these talks Sam, they're worse than getting your ass kicked by a wendigo."

"Yeah, yeah they are. But only because we make them so painful..." Sam leaned on the car door and looked down. "They don't have to be that way."

His brother didn't look convinced.

"I mean did we have to do the whole 'run to the car, wrestle, fall on the floor, end up in a pile of leaves thing' to get this out? ...Couldn't we just like cut out the middle part." He sounded weary.

"Wouldn't be us, would it dude. Not the Winchester way." Dean dragged his hand down his face. He was exhausted. His brother's words had left a wound. But his year was nearly up; Sam was here and Sam was distressed. He was failing in his big brother role. This wasn't how he wanted things to be between them at the end.

He carefully folded the hurt away, to be dealt with some other time, in the safety of the Impala on a lonely drive or during the dark hours of the night. After all, there'd be plenty of time to think things over in Hell.

Focus, he thought, think about Sam. He needs something…Sam likes to share. I'm not so good at the sharing thing. There's gotta be somethin' he wants me to spill.

He stitched on a smile, hoping it wasn't a grimace. "Hey Sam, I'm feeling kinda loopy here dude, guess it's the meds. Figure I'm not gonna remember this anyhow, so… you get one question. It's a one-time offer buddy."

Sam was baffled. "One question about what? What do you mean?" He leaned in the car to look at him.

"Just one… and there's no _walls_ , okay? Just ask, 'cause dude you're always asking and I… keep on running."

Sam snorted, tipped his head back. "Wow. That's a tall order. There are a lot to choose from..."

Dean laughed quietly, his expression softening as he studied his brother's face.

"Why do you think I don't love you? That I wouldn't do anything for you? Why do you think so badly of yourself?"

"That's three, dude."

Sam's voice over rode his brother's as the same thought occurred to them simultaneously. "That's two questions, isn't it? Three. Shit." He smiled. The kind where his dimples showed. A real one. "They'd always do that and count it as one question on essays."

Dean laughed, head lolling a little. "Way to go, Sammy, might've known you'd turn it into somethin' academic."

"I'm sorry." Sam laughed at his own pretension.

His brother grinned. "That's not fair." Then more seriously, looking more than a little embarrassed. "Dude, I know you er... you love me."

"You don't act like you know that. You really don't."

Dean dipped his head a little at that, then continued slowly. "You wouldn't do _anything_ for me. It's never been that way but that's okay, 'cause you don't need to, that's my job…"

"Of course I would!" Sam shot back, immediately affronted. "I WOULD Dean!"

He looked at Dean's unconvinced expression and was wounded to his core that there was no convincing Dean of this. "I would! God, I would." The hurt was naked on his boyishly handsome face.

"I don't want you to." Dean patted Sam's sleeve. "No-one should have to do that. You were always closer to normal than the rest of us, and you gotta stay that way. There's gotta be enough of you left to share around."

"You _need_ to believe me, Dean. Please."

"I know you'd like to... that's enough dude."

There was a pause. Dean took in a deep breath, steeling himself. This talking thing was uncomfortable. This wasn't a question he'd normally even ask himself, but now, with the feather touch of fever stroking his mind and Hell the next turn on the right, he found the words. Not just for Sam, perhaps for himself too.

"You asked me why I don't think so much of myself. It's 'cause I'm… empty. This…" he gestured at himself, "…it's all just an act Sammy. I was given a job, to look after you and Dad. I failed, lost you. Good as killed Dad."

He wasn't aware of the tears welling in his eyes. "I shouldn't even be alive. So it's okay, this Hell thing. I should've been dead anyway." He sucked in a breath, met his brother's eyes. "You gotta let me go Sam. When it's time, you just gotta turn around and walk away."

"Dude, I was the one driving. How did you kill Dad?" Sam caught his breath harshly. "Dad's on me, Dean. I was driving in that wreck. I don't even know what happened, one minute it was fine and then that truck...outta nowhere."

Sam's voice broke and his eyes welled up with unshed tears. That was a path he couldn't let himself go down. He'd been the death of both his parents. It was too heavy a burden.

He turned to study Dean again. "See, you still don't believe me. I..." he broke off and looked away, drew in a deep, ragged breath. "You said that you lost me once to Stanford and you couldn't lose me again, right?" He watched to see if Dean understood, was even paying attention. He was, eyes turned up to study his younger brother. "Well, remember that the trickster made me lose you a _hundred_ times... A hundred times and it didn't get any easier." Sam swallowed and closed the car door.

"Sam?"

Sam walked to the other side and slid behind the driver's seat. "I know what life looks like without you." He looked broken and defeated. "I want to go back to the motel and get the first aid kit. We're going to need it."

It was said as if a first aid kit could begin to patch the wounds they both shared.

.

 _ **Thanks to you all for reading.**_

 _ **There's plenty of action, hurt and comfort to come in the final chapter, which is turning out to be quite long!**_

 ** _This has been the first co-written story we've done, so it would be good to know what you think?_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Six**

 **.**

They'd only been driving for a few miles when Dean began shifting around uncomfortably on the seat. The wound from the crossbow bolt was throbbing and he was cold and increasingly confused. At times he felt sure the bolt was still there, snagging painfully against the seat back. He shifted again, groping under his jacket. The dressing was rough and wet under his finger tips and when he pulled them away the red of blood showed bright against the pale skin. He wiped them quickly on his t-shirt, keeping his hand out of sight before Sam spotted the tell-tale crescents of blood remaining around his nails.

The wound throbbed harder; Dean inhaled sharply through his nose, covering the sound immediately with a feeble cough. Crap, that hurt, he thought. There was too much blood for a simple wound seepage. He needed to see what was going on, perhaps he'd ripped some stitches? He flicked a glance in his brother's direction.

"Dude, pull over. There's a gas station up ahead." If there was a mirror in the washroom he could get a good look under the dressing without alarming Sam.

"Why?"

"Just pull over for a minute." Dean was suddenly desperate to get out of the Impala, but he picked up on the note of defeat in his brother's voice. He squinted anxiously at Sam. "You okay over there?"

"What?" Sam turned his head to look at Dean, still a little wary from his brother's recent tantrum. "Why are we pulling over or I'm not doing it."

"I… I kinda need to go, Sammy." Dean's voice was gruff, discomfort plain on his face.

Sam sighed like a badgered father. "Can't you hold it until we get back to the motel?"

"Uh… not really man." His brother was fumbling under his jacket, staring towards the back seat. He shivered, looked across the car at Sam in a mute plea.

Sam muttered to himself. "You can't, can you? Or you wouldn't be asking."

His brother's odd behavior caught his attention and Sam looked at him with a soft eye. "What's wrong?" He pulled in the driveway, feeling a stab of genuine concern run through him.

"Nothin'... just need a minute okay. Everything's peachy." Dean stepped out of the Impala rapidly but gingerly. He looked into the back seat again, frowning.

Sam got out and watched his brother for a minute. "What? You're scaring me, dude."

"Sam! I'm goin' to the rest room! How scary can that be!" Dean snorted, incredulous, his eyebrow raised as he headed off to the toilet.

Sam shadowed his footsteps and drew to a halt as his brother swung the door closed in his face. He backed off a step and stood watching with rapt attention, his senses alert, instinct screaming at him that something was wrong. There were a few quiet clattering noises inside the washroom, then the sound of water running.

"You alright in there?" Sam glanced over his shoulder to Baby, quickly surveying the backseat, looking for what Dean was seeing.

The door flew open and his brother came out, taking Sam a little by surprise with the speed of his exit. "I'm okay." He didn't look okay, he looked worried, shooting another glance at the back seat of the Impala as he settled carefully back into the passenger seat.

"Okay what is with you? Why are you running from the bathroom and staring at the back seat?"

Dean turned towards him. His voice was tense. "Sam, what did you do with the crossbow bolt?"

Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the question, Sam furrowed his brow. "I...tossed it in the motel room garbage I think."

"Gahhh!" Without warning Dean suddenly lurched forwards on the seat; he snatched at his jacket, pulling it clear as he twisted around to try and see his own back. A pale and translucent crossbow bolt was sticking out of the wound; a disembodied ghostly hand emerging from the seat back took hold of the bolt and rotated it viciously.

"What the fuck?!"

A beefy looking ghost sat on the back seat, the neat hole drilled into the centre of his forehead identifying him as the deceased owner of the bolt. He grinned at them maliciously.

"Dean!" Reacting on instinct, Sam grabbed Dean by the collar and hauled him across the Impala's bench seat and out of the car like a rag doll. His brother was twisted awkwardly, trying to force the hand away from the bolt. He grabbed at Sam's arm for support, accidentally making contact with his bad shoulder. Sam hissed but kept his death grip on Dean and pulled him away from the perceived danger, Dean's feet tripping over his own.

To their horror the ghost stepped almost daintily through the side of the car, plonking his large work boots down on the road. He smirked at them.

"What the hell is it attached to?! Dean? Do you have anything of his?"

"Must be the bolt." Dean was panting in distress, trying to get hold of the blood-slick surface of the insubstantial bolt. "It's gotta be holding him here…" His voice cracked as the bolt twisted again, releasing a surge of blood that soaked into the waistband of his jeans.

"Oh god. Okay." Sam offered his hand to support Dean, still trying to orient himself to the unfolding drama.

"SAM! Look out!" Dean dropped his shoulder into his brother, shoving him bodily out of the way as the ghost flew towards them.

Sam staggered forward, using the momentum of the push to launch himself into a dead run to the trunk of the impala.

Both hands now holding his back, Dean dropped to his knees, his face crumpling.

Sam forced the trunk open none too delicately, grabbed the sawed off shotgun and pumped it. The blast of the salt round ripped its way through the ghost, who disappeared.

The pain eased slightly as the ghostly bolt stopped twisting; Dean lurched to his feet and leapt towards the car, grabbing the tire iron from underneath the front seat.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Gotta get back to the bolt... burn it, maybe it'll be enough to get shot of this freak."

Sam ducked into the driver's side, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the door. "Get in. There's no way that someone didn't hear that shotgun blast. "

Dean fell sideways into the passenger seat, dropping the tire iron between his feet, blood stains from his hands suddenly shining bright on the door and across the dashboard. "Gimme me the shotgun!"

Sam tossed the gun in Dean's direction and peeled out with an uncharacteristic recklessness.

The ghost snapped back into view on the back seat. His smirk was long gone; now he merely looked furious. He glared towards Dean. The ghostly bolt started to rotate and twist in the wound by sheer force of will.

A horrible, pained noise ripped its way out of Dean's throat as he swung around with the shotgun. He blasted the salt round directly into the ghost's chest, taking out some of the seat and shattering the back window in the process. "Baby, 'm so sorry…" He slumped sideways against the seat.

Sam sped up in response and slid into the parking lot of the hotel room, leaving tracks with Baby's tires.

Dean clawed his way out of the Impala and staggered towards the room. His brother was already ahead of him, frantically searching the hotel room for traces of the bolt. Just before Dean got his boot through the door, the ghost reappeared next to him, snatched the shotgun and hurled it into the bushes. Off balance, Dean staggered through the doorway.

Sam grabbed the bolt out of the garbage and threw it into the cast bathtub. He frantically tried to light the wooden end. "Come on! Burn!" It wouldn't catch.

"Put it in salt Sam, might hold him for now!"

Sam grabbed the canister of salt from a pack near the door and poured it on the object. He tried the lighter again and it finally caught and started to burn.

The ghost flickered into view, sneering right into Dean's face.

"Fuck, where's Bobby when you need him?"

"Is it gone?!" Sam asked, poking his head out to survey the scene. "Shit. No."

"Sonofabitch, that hurts..." Dean dropped to his knees as the ghost twisted the bolt again. "SAM!" He snatched a breath, moaned"…there's gotta be some still in my back."

"Well how am I supposed to get it out?" Sam asked, tossing the salt in the ghost's general direction in a haphazard spray.

"Just fuckin' dig it out." His brother's face was drained of color as blood dripped from his saturated jeans onto the floor.

Sam began to lay a circle around the bed. "Get in the circle." He secured Dean and a med kit inside the protective ring of salt.

"Sam…" Dean's voice was thready. "Please, Sam."

"Okay Dean. Okay." Sam helped his brother onto the bed, his voice talking with forced calm. "We're in the circle, you're safe."

Dean slumped up against him, shaking. "Fuckin' ghosts!"

"Let me take a look at your back, dude." Sam pulled up his brother's blood soaked shirt.

The ghost snarled, edging around just outside the circle.

"See? I told you we should have gone to the hospital. They would have found this and dug it out." Sam lectured. He glared at the spirit and added. "With anesthetic."

The ghost hissed back at him, kicking at the salt line.

"Too late for that now Sam."

"Yeah just try and get through it, you sadistic bastard!" Sam yelled at the apparition. "Too late for what?" He asked, realizing Dean had spoken.

"Hospital... should've stayed in bed..."

"I told you. You never listen." Sam chimed in again, unable to hold back his annoyance.

"Dammit Sam!" Dean's voice was uncharacteristically high in pitch. "I'm bleedin' to death here! This ain't the time!"

Sam pushed Dean back onto his stomach, holding him down as he ascertained the best point of entry. His brother groaned, biting his lip.

Sam winced at the sound and kept his tone calm. "Okay. It's not so bad." He was glad Dean couldn't see his face as he lied. Turned out he didn't have to.

"I hate it when you say that." The muscles along Dean's torso rippled with pain, sweat breaking out on his skin.

"Shhh. Easy." Sam whispered. "Don't even think I have anything to dig with. Goddamn it."

"Keys, use the keys, anything." Dean's eyes were beginning to glaze, he sounded desperate.

Sam searched his pockets desperately and found his jacknife. He threw alcohol over the blade. "Got my knife. Why didn't I go to med school instead of Law School?" He snorted. "Wonder what Dad would have said 'bout that..."

The spirit had begun to waft the room door back and forth, obviously an attempt to blow the salt. So much for it taking practice for ghosts to be able to do that shit.

Sam took a few deep breaths to still his shaking hand. "I'm scared."

"Just do it Sammy!"

"I'm scared I'm gonna hit internal organs." Sam's hand still wasn't cooperating.

"If you don't, he will."

The salt line was thinning with every sweep of the door; a shadow of the ghost bolt reappeared in Dean's back.

"Okay. I know it's hard but try to stay still."

His brother gripped hard onto the edge of the bed, clamped his jaw shut in anticipation.

Sam pushed the knife in, fishing around blindly with the tip. Dean's back arched in agony, a scream gradually forcing its way past his clenched teeth.

"I'm here." Sam reassured uselessly, still digging. "It's okay. Hang on, Dean. Okay?"

His brother was shaking, clinging onto the bed. The ghost leaned in to stare at him with interest, a grin fixed on his face.

"Okay...wait." Sam furrowed his brow. "I think I feel it."

"Just get it Sammy, please..."

Sam pulled up carefully, balancing the metal he could feel resting in the blade. As it drew closer to the surface, he fished in the wound with his fingers, wincing at the feel of the wet flesh around them.

Dean's eyes were wide with shock, harsh pants bursting from his dry lips as he tried to warn Sam that the salt line was half gone.

Sam swallowed bile as he pulled out the tip of the bolt head.

The last grains of salt parted; the ghost surged forwards immediately. Dean dug deep and managed to push himself off the bed, falling into the semi-corporeal spirit in an attempt to keep him away from Sam.

Sam seized the distraction and dashed to the bathroom, almost skiing on the tiles. He landed on his knees, flung the piece in the toilet and flushed. "There. Follow that, asshole."

The spirit's surprise was evident as it disappeared.

Dean collapsed in a heap, long limbs sprawling.

Sam was over to his side in the space of a few seconds, too concerned to enjoy his victory. Or to ponder if there was now a ghost haunting a sewer somewhere. "Dean..." he picked his brother's head up. "Hey...Hey."

His brother's eyes were out of focus, skin bleached white. "Sam…"

"Yeah it's me." Sam put Dean's head into his lap and fished out his cell phone. "I'm calling the hospital, okay? Just hang in there."

.

 _ **More soon. Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **CelineNaville and Mariamo.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Hell - Next Turn on the Right**

 **Chapter Seven (final chapter)**

 **.**

 _Sam put Dean's head into his lap and fished out his cell phone. "I'm calling the hospital, okay? Just hang in there."_

 _._

"No!" Dean tugged weakly at his brother's arm. "You fix it."

"Dean I have to. You're bleeding out."

"You can stop it..." It was just a whisper. "…don't want to go to hospital Sammy."

"I know you don't." Sam answered patiently. "But you gotta, bud."

"It'll stop... just stitch it up, and we're… good."

"Dean. No. You're really bad, man. I can't put this together." Sam tried to stanch the blood with the bed linen.

His brother hung on to his sleeve, eyes pleading.

Sam set the phone down a moment, still holding the cloth to Dean's back. He touched his brother's cheek. "Dean...listen to me. You listening?"

"Wha.. Yeah." He tried to nod. "Yeah..."

"Okay...you're hurt. I'm going to get you help."

"I don't need any other help..."

"I can't fix this. I'm gonna be right here with you. It's gonna be okay." Sam hit the speed dial.

Dean looked at him, a vague expression on his face as he licked slowly at his bottom lip. "Did he hurt you, Sam?"

"Shhhhh." Sam soothed before he turned his attention to the 911 operator.

Dean struggled weakly, alarmed. "Sammy? You okay?"

Sam ignored the question until he was finished with the call. "I'm fine. We've got you help. They'll be a few minutes is all."

Dean's head rolled against his shoulder.

"It's okay," Sam whispered more to himself than to Dean. "...not going to lose you again."

Dean patted his arm, no strength in the contact. "Still here Sam." He shuddered. "I'm cold..."

"Don't say that." Sam hugged him closer, leaning his head into his brother's.

Dean leaned into his chest, holding onto Sam's shirt with a bloodied hand. "Why is it so cold?"

"Because you've lost so much blood I'm guessing." Sam whispered into the mussed hair.

"Uh huh… don't go away."

"Of course. I'm right here." Sam tightened his grip again, strong and solid and sure. "I've got ya. Feel me? I'm right here."

"M hmm… would've liked to be your best man Sammy." Dean's speech was slurring, slowing.

"You are. You are." Sam assured, feeling the impending loss of his brother looming just ahead. "You're the best man ever. Every day."

A flicker of a smile played around his brother's mouth.

"Would've been so proud... See you with all your fancy friends. Little Sammy, done good."

"Knock it off. You're not going anywhere. Quit talking like you are."

Dean patted his arm, comforting. "What you did, gettin' out, was really brave y'know?"

"Shut up." Sam's jaw tightened.

"I wouldn't have had the guts." His brother moaned, shifting uncomfortably.

"Dean. Don't do this."

"Do what dude?"

"Don't bring up Stanford to me as your last words." Sam choked back tears. "Don't do it."

The words were hardly more than a sigh. "Not m'last words." Dean was painfully aware that, one way or another, his last words to Sam were fast approaching.

"Yeah. And you remember that." Sam said sternly, unaccountably stung by remembering his college years. The years he'd walked away from Dean. Back when he thought he could walk away. It was all bullshit. He was as stuck as his brother. Neither of them ever had a choice. Never had a chance.

"I was kinda jealous..."

"Of what?" The non-sequitur threw Sam off balance.

"Friends... never had any proper friends." There was almost a note of surprise.

"That's just the way we were raised. It's not your fault. Should've had a ton of friends." Sam huffed. "You of all people."

"Huh... m'not too good at stickin' around Sam."

"Yeah but if we did stick around. You'd be the most popular guy in college. Trust me on that."

Dean looked pleased, in a drowsy kind of way, even as he shook his head. "Only with the chicks, man."

"No. No with the dudes too. You'd probably have your own frat."

A smile this time, but a more definite head shake. "Nah. Me and Baby, we have to keep movin'."

"Yeah. Okay." Sam sighed. "Not gonna argue."

"I'd've come to visit you, y'know, in your big lawyer house."

"Yeah. I know." Sam gave a fond smile. "And try to bang my wife."

"Huh." A sloppy grin appeared. "No. Wouldn't bang y'wife Sammy."

"You would so hit on my wife. Don't pretend..."

"…flirt a bit, maybe." Dean leaned a little heavier against his brother.

"There you go." Sam replied, smiling at the admission.

"Can't help my naturally good looks man!"

There was an amused snorting laugh before Sam agreed. "No. You can't."

"You gonna go back Sam, after, hell...?"

The thought broke him. Sam let out a half-sob. "No." As if he could ever go back after what he'd been through. Ever.

"I want you to."

"Yeah. Well I don't want to."

Dean looked sorrowfully at him. "Would've been good to know one of us got out."

There was a long pause and finally Sam responded. His voice was flat and angry. "I'm going to hunt down the bitch that holds your contract and kill her."

Dean tried to pull himself upright, failed. "Don't you go there!" he growled. "You stay away from her!"

"Why?" Sam retorted.

"Why?" His brother winced, flopping back. "Don't make it all for nothin' Sam."

Sam didn't respond, but his face was set in stone. Set to something hard and unforgiving and not at all like Sammy.

"When... when I'm there, I just want to know you're safe. I NEED you to be safe."

Sam let out a long breath. "Dean, let's not talk about this right now."

"So when's a good time dude?"

"I don't know...when you're not bleeding out on my lap, probably."

Dean huffed at him. "Seems like a good time to me." He swallowed painfully. "I need a drink."

"I'm not getting up to get you one." Sam kept him cradled in the crook of his arm. "Plus you might need surgery. You need an empty stomach for that."

"Uh huh... kay..." His brother shuddered again. "I'm really cold."

Sam pulled him closer and started to rub Dean's arms to warm him.

A low rumble, more the sound of someone trying to stay conscious than have a serious conversation. "Hey, watch the merchandise... Sam?"

"What?"

"When they stitch me up, can we go somewhere, like really, I dunno, awesome?"

"Sure." Sam responded in a tone he would use to placate a child. "Sure, buddy."

"Where we're gonna go dude?"

"I don't know. Where ever you want." Sam's heart wasn't in it, but he wanted Dean to keep talking. "When you were a kid... musta been somewhere special you wanted to see."

"I don't remember. It was a long time ago, don't remember being just a kid much."

Sam winced at the statement. "Oh man... M'sorry... You should've had a better life..." he paused. "What do you want. Where do YOU want to go. Let's do what Dean wants for once, huh?"

Dean's eyes were glazed; he probably didn't realise he was speaking aloud. "I get to go where I want every day, dude, just drivin' Baby, some rock, with my baby brother."

Sam bit his lip, swallowed painfully. He could hear the wheels of the ambulance pulling in, felt almost guilty at how relieved he was that it was here. Not just for Dean's sake, for his own. He needed someone to take the burden off his shoulders. Give him a moment to think. To recoup.

"Thank god. It's gonna be okay. They're gonna take care of you. Want me to ride with you, dude?"

"Yeah... but Baby?"

"I can come back for her." Sam assured.

Dean nodded, his eyelids dropped. "O…Kay..."

Rough hands pulled Dean away and strapped him onto a backboard. Voices wafted through his consciousness. He could hear Sam answering questions, wasn't quite sure what they were. Someone slipped an IV into the crook of his arm, started a drip.

"Sam?" It was just a moan of air.

"Right here." Sam said solidly.

The straps tightened a little more around Dean's chest, secure, minimizing any movement.

Dean's eyes flew open, he cut of an involuntary whimper, muttered something at one of the technicians.

The EMT leaned down to hear him. "What's that, sir?"

"My brother... you gotta check him out, arm…"

The EMT patted Dean's shoulder. "We are. Don't worry."

Dean looked relieved, letting his eyes close.

Sam took Dean's hand in his for a moment and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll take care of you."

"I know you will Sammy. Y'always do."

.

A few hours later Sam was in his customary position in a hard plastic chair at the side of his brother's hospital bed.

Dean looked at him, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

"Cheer up dude. I'm okay. All stitched up, see?"

He gestured at the white dressing, just visible around the curve of his lower abdomen.

Sam sighed, not convinced.

"Sam!" Dean sounded slightly exasperated. "I'm okay, really." He pointed to the bag of fluids dripping slowly into his arm through an IV. "I was just running a little low on oil. They've plugged the leak. Soon as I'm topped up, we're out of here." He frowned. "We need to find Bela. Get the Colt back."

Sam nodded, resigned.

There would be no more talk of a road trip to somewhere "awesome"; there wasn't enough time left.

After all, Hell was the next Turn on the Right.

.

 **The End.**

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